Randy Foster: Randy got his gun

Friday

Apr 5, 2013 at 12:01 AMApr 5, 2013 at 11:40 AM

In 1979 when I went to boot camp, I was not the stereotypical Marine recruit. I was tall and skinny and thought about things too much, drawing to me special attention of the kind that one does not want from drill instructors.

In 1979 when I went to boot camp, I was not the stereotypical Marine recruit. I was tall and skinny and thought about things too much, drawing to me special attention of the kind that one does not want from drill instructors.

During a “classroom circle” (sitting on the floor around the drill instructor) in the squad bay (barracks) a few days before we left for two weeks of rifle range training, the senior drill instructor, Staff Sgt. Huston, said he already knew who would flunk at the range. He pointed out several of us, including me.

Why me? First, I was raised in the suburbs, and seeing how I handled my rifle during the early weeks of boot camp, Staff. Sgt. Huston rightly figured that I’d never shot a rifle in my life.

Second, Staff Sgt. Huston said I would think about it too much and every time I aimed, I’d mess it up. (He used far more colorful language.)

The first time I aimed a loaded rifle at a target, sure enough, I began to doubt my training. The target was 200 yards away. To hit it, I had to line up the target with my rifle’s front sight assembly as seen through the rear sight assembly, accounting for distance and wind, which I had to estimate. And I was to take it on faith that if I did that correctly, and if I squeezed the trigger oh so softly, and if the sling of my rifle was wound tightly enough that it bit into my arm, and if my body parts were coiled so tightly around each other that a gentle tap or nudge might break a bone, and if I held my breath just a little, that the bullet would hit wherever I aimed it.

Well, it did not.

But the second bullet did, as did many more, and not just from 200 yards, but 300 yards and 500 yards, too.

I left the rifle range entitled to wear a Marine Corps Rifle Expert badge, the coveted crossed rifles that outrank the badges for Sharpshooter (a cross pattée behind a target) and Marksman (just a target). It was a feat I achieved two more times before I put my uniform away for the final time. Turns out the Marine Corps can teach even a city boy like me how to shoot not just decently, but expertly.

When I left active duty, I bought a Ruger Mini-14 I had been eyeing at a Jacksonville pawn shop. I owned that rifle for about a year, during which time I fired just one 10-round magazine — at aluminum cans at an improvised shooting range somewhere north of Los Angeles. There were others with me, people shooting .22s and handguns. My rifle used 5.56 mm rounds, just like the M-16s I used in the Marines.

It sounded like this at the range that day: plink, plink-plink, pop, plink, pop, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOBOOBOBOBOBOBOOM!

Nothing sounds quite as authoritative and get-down-to-business as a 5.56 mm NATO round coming out the end of a rifle barrel. Once I emptied my magazine, I looked around and realized everyone at the range had stopped shooting to see what the heck was making all that racket — at a shooting range.

Anyway, a few months later I needed money more than I needed a Mini-14, and I sold it for more than I originally paid. I haven’t owned or shot a firearm since then. But we do have a German shepherd.

Despite the training, I always had a healthy, almost fearful respect for the firearms I carried.

A couple of weeks ago, a Robeson County man cleaning his shotgun accidently shot and killed his son, who was sitting in front of him watching TV.

A couple of weeks ago, a wife calmly handed her husband a pistol who then allegedly shot up a vehicle during a road rage incident that started in James City and ended in Newport.

If I had a gun in my house, I would not sleep well, knowing what trouble my children can get into the moment I’m not looking. These are feelings I have and choices I make, in my household, based on some knowledge of the subject. Others decide differently and I respect that, just as I expect them to respect decisions I make in my life.

What I’ve learned is that people who demand others respect their lifestyle choices, sometimes don’t reciprocate.

Thanks for letting me pontificate on your Sunday morning.

Randy Foster is managing editor of the Sun Journal. He can be reached at randy.foster@newbernsj.com or 635-5663. Follow him on Twitter @rivereditor.

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